Dominion Aid to Westfall
had promised to disperse the vortex that ravaged Westfall.]] The Dominion Aid to Westfall was an effort made by the Dominion of the Sun with the outward intention of winning favor of the Kingdom of Stormwind by dispersing the vortex that plagued Westfall. The Siege of Orgrimmar had proven to be a significant tipping point in the established war between the Grand Alliance and New Horde. United once again by a common foe, the Horde Rebels and Alliance forces took the fight to Garrosh Hellscream and secured a victory paid for in countless lives. The aftermath of the siege consisted of an odd armistice - as both Alliance and Rebel Horde sought to have justice meted out to those who stood with Hellscream. This provided a prime opportunity for those who sought to shift political alliances between the two factions. Regent Lord Lor'themar Theron of Quel'Thalas and King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind began to discuss in secret a possible peace between their kingdoms. As a measure of good faith, Lor'themar offered for the Dominion of the Sun, a Thalassian organization led by Setrien Dawnlight, to disperse the arcane vortex that emerged in Westfall after the cataclysm wrought by Deathwing. Varian accepted his offer. Lord-Marshal Maxen Montclair and the First Regiment of the Elwynn Brigade were tasked with receiving and escorting the Dominion to the vortex site from the coast of Westfall. Exerpt: The Elven Landing The soldiers of the first regiment milled about the outskirts of Moonbrook, having just finished their evening meal. A number of vagrant children weaved in and out of the camp, seeking any crumbs the troops might offer them. Banners of blue and gold flapped in the wind that rolled off of the plains. A ranking soldier barked, prompting the troops to assemble. After a flurry of movement and clanking of armor, the men and women of the first had gathered themselves in rows and columns. A mounted knight stood before them, shouting for all to hear. "Listen clearly, men. We are to observe and be -cordial- to the blood elves that will land on our shores. I care not for your personal reservations. I don't trust the elves either, and they aren't our allies yet. But they have offered their aid in dispersing the arcane vortex that has plagued these lands since the Cataclysm, and the king has given them passage." Some of the men grumbled, obviously resenting the sentiment. The regiment had faced down the Sin'dorei on a number of battlefields, the wounds of such scarred over with hatred. One of the soldiers spoke up out of turn. "Sir? Why are we letting them walk right in if they aren't our allies?" "Because those are our orders." The men quieted. Columns were quickly arranged and the regiment marched out to meet the Dominion of the Sun on the southern stretches of the Gold Coast. As they approached the shore, the red and gold sails of the Thalassian ships clashing with the blue skies and seas. A number of ships of the Stormwind Navy stood on standby, stationed off of Westfall's coast to ensure that the elven vessels held to their word. The regiment soldiers made their way down the steep and rocky path leading to the beach below, their heavy footfalls leaving prints in the sand. A number of ornately decorated landing boats approached the shores from the Thalassian ships, each bearing half a dozen rowing Dominion soldiers and workers. The boats glided through the water like knives, eventually beaching themselves before the regiment troops. Marshal Montclair, mounted atop his warhorse, bellowed out to the elves. "Representatives of the Kingdom of Quel'Thalas! You may set foot on our shores!" .]] Graceful were the soldiers and mages that emerged from the landing craft. Each were adorned in the illuminated garb known of the elves, metals polished to a golden sheen and cloths of the finest warm silks. A leader emerged from the group, bowing with a flourish to the mounted commander. "Greetings, human. I am Setrien Dawnlight, Sovereign of the Dominion of the Sun. My accompaniment consist of the Sin'dorei under my command who bear the equipment needed for the operation agreed upon." Maxen returned the gesture by inclining his head, replying in kind. "Hail. I am Maxen of House Montclair, Duke of Westridge and Marshal of the royal army of Stormwind." Upon hearing the name, Setrien's features froze in place. He had heard stories of the man who stood mounted before him from his father's allies. The human commander had faced down his father Tendael Dawnlight in battle several times over, and was one of the leaders involved in Tendael's capture and sentencing. Maxen had even pardoned Grand Marshal Ashamal Shalah'aman, who had murdered Tendael on his way to serve his prison sentence. After several moments of silence, Setrien twitched and regained his composure. The blood elf stared Maxen down before speaking in an icy tone. "Ah, Maxen Montclair. I am well aware of your deeds. You pardoned my father's murderer and sided with the militant forces of Dalaran that expelled my people. We Sin'dorei do not forget and we rarely forgive." The mounted commander drew in a heavy breath as he leveled his gaze at the Dominion Sovereign from atop his warhorse. Several of the regiment soldiers behind him stirred at the elf's words, glancing over their guests in anticipation of an attack. "I did what I must to preserve the Alliance and exact justice upon those who leveled a city of men, women and children, Setrien. Yet that is not what brings us here today nor is it a matter that we should discuss on these grounds." Setrien glared with eyes aflame. Several more moments passed before he let out a sigh of frustration. "I am not done with you yet, Montclair. Justice will be served one day. But you are right. We did not come here to make war." Maxen nodded, the tension in the air subsiding in part. The soldiers who stood on both sides of the sand lowered their raised weapons, though they remained out of their scabbards. The human commander spoke; "I only seek peace and justice. It is my hope that this arrangement will be among the first steps towards that for both of our peoples. We have more pressing threats to our kingdoms than each other." To that Setrien nodded. He motioned for the men of the Dominion to begin unloading the supplies and equipment they had brought from the ships. Maxen continued. "The agreement set forth by our betters is that you and your men shall be escorted to the vortex. From there you are granted permission to harness or capture the energies of it as you see fit so long as the end result disperses it from our lands. A number of my men will observe your operations." The mention of regiment soldiers observing the Dominion's work brought the Dominion Sovereign's gaze to an annoyed squint. "Then let us be on our way. We will establish our camp in the valley that was described and begin immediately. I hope that our efforts will go on unimpeded." Turning to his own troops, Maxen directed them to make way for the elves to pass. The man had his doubts. With no reason whatsoever to trust the Dominion of the Sun, he ushered his men forward - trusting in the faith of his king. Exerpt: The Change of Priorities One would find it difficult to believe that three years had passed since the Cataclysm had wrought permanent change to Azeroth's landscape. Although Quel'Thalas had been relatively unaffected by the catastrophe, many of its denizens were drawn to sites of calamity with a sense of awe and intrigue. The Raging Chasm was just one of those sites, but its proximity to Stormwind had staved off any attempts to study the anomaly. It was only until recently that the Dominion of the Sun had been granted an opportunity to cross diplomatic boundaries and understand a phenomenon that had now become a morbid landmark of the region. The tranquil valley connecting the Gold Coast to the chasm was transformed overnight into a proper base camp for the sin'dorei. Shameless in their excess, the elves had summoned staggering quantities of supplies and reinforcements through large, whirring portals. Their banners were planted practically everywhere, making it difficult not to have the Dominion's icon emblazoned in one's mind. Sentries silently kept vigil over the valley as robotic laborers transported enormous crates of elven machinations. The elves were not oblivious to the fact that they were being monitored by the humans. In fact, they seemed to take pleasure in it. Their mastery of the arcane was exhibited without any filter of modesty, both to intimidate their observers and advocate a sense of cultural superiority. Indeed, it was what the soldiers of the Dominion had believed for years, and there was no better place to assert their axioms than right under the humans' noses. The anomaly they'd promised to disperse was a blight upon the land, and the elves took great delight in establishing control over something the humans had neglected to deal with. It would not take long, however, before pride replaced benevolence. Less than twenty-four hours since their landing, the elves had discovered something in the valley that shifted the weight of their priorities. Right next to their camp was the entrance to a mine shaft, a promising reserve of resources that were direly needed by the Dominion. Although the Lord-Marshal had not explicitly stated that the elves could not harvest the mine for ore, there were obvious implications for such actions. Using the vortex as justification for their investigation, the elves sent geologists into the cavern to prospect its potential worth. Their findings were astonishing. The minerals found within were exactly the type needed for a project that had captivated the organization for over a year... the ley-cruiser. And so, as a minimal team of researchers continued work on the anomaly, more resources were directed to the mine. It was a deceitful tactic, but one that proved initially effective. With subtly, the elves prepared to harvest the mine for its irresistible fruit. Such an endeavor jeopardized the armistice, but ultimately the opportunistic philosophy would come to dominate their actions. As in most matters, nothing ventured yields nothing gained. Journal Entry: Vykien Day 1 Westfall. Not a region familiar to the presence of the Sin'dorei, but the Dominion had places to go; the Dominion had lands to excavate; the Dominion had lands to set foot on in the name of Quel'thalas. The Cataclysm did not do much to shake the kingdom's state, but the region of Westfall was not spared from the upheaval. Word had reached Vykien's ears by way of debriefing from the Sovereign, Setrien Dawnlight. The task was to locate an area known as "The Raging Chasm." The Cataclysm's disturbance created a vortex of mysterious energies, potent enough to uproot trees and large chunks of land. It spun violently, suspending the objects it grasped in an ever-spinning limbo. At least, that's what they ended up seeing. But first, the Dominion had to be escorted by soldiers of the First Regiment. Naturally, as humans are, they were skeptical of Sin'dorei presence so close to their beloved kingdom (if Westfall could be grouped under that... the place was very dry, and now, full of riotous transients). Tensions were already high, after Vykien witnessed the new Sovereign's grudge against the lord, Maxen Montclair. It was he who had been at odds with Setrien's father, Tendael, when he was alive. After reaching the quarry adjacent to the chasm, the Dominion set up camp. Vykien was mostly occupied by her assistance in creating portals for reinforcements to arrive, and then by sample-taking on the chasm's outside wall. And further, she and a group of other magisters pondered the true source of the energies, along with ways to capture a live ooze without dispersing it. The night ended after the Dominion seemingly deceived the forces of the First Regiment, telling them that the cave nearby was dangerous and needed to be examined. Moronium. It's dangerous stuff! Exerpt: Word Reaches Westridge The setting sun cast lights of blue, gold and crimson upon the stone floors of Westridge Keep. The mountain home of the House of Montclair was nestled deep in the mountains south of Stormwind City with a clear view of the coast. Duke Maxen Montclair sat at a bench nearly covered in papers and scrolls before a long line of petitioners and contractors who all sought his attention. "So shall twenty five breastplates be forged, milord?" "I said thirty." "But milord!" Maxen let out a deep sigh. The losses sustained during the siege of Orgrimmar and the new edicts set forth by the king had put a number of strains on his lands. The iron reserves of Westridge that grew during the aftermath of the Cataclysm had all but been exhausted. That was not all that troubled him, however. The king had invited once sworn enemies to solve a problem in the kingdom's breadbasket as a measure of "good faith" and had tasked Maxen with managing the situation. A need for resupply brought him back to Westridge for what was supposed to be a simple request for arms and armor, but the needs of his people and the arrangement of materials had extended the process into a day's ordeal. He had left Sir Gray Ke'tar with command of the troops in Westfall, a man who held his confidence. His meeting two days prior with Setrien Dawnlight, Sovereign of the Dominion had left Maxen unsettled. The death of Setrien's father, Tendael Dawnlight, could not be helped - but the pardoning of his murderer had haunted Maxen ever since. The night elves of the Lineage of the Moon threatened to wage war against the Kingdom of Stormwind due to the "war crime" charged against Grand Marshal Ashamal Shalah'aman. King Varian quietly ordered Maxen drop the charge to appease the Kaldorei. Was it just in Maxen's eyes? No. But it upheld the Alliance during a time of war. But what now? What sort of amends or peace could Maxen hope to offer Setrien after he pardoned his father's murderer? "..Twenty five breastplates will do. But I expect five more when the materials are secured." "Thank you, milord." Setrien had left a deep impression on Maxen. The young elven commander held the same bitterness that Maxen knew during the Orcish Wars. He too was thrust into leadership after his father was slain by his enemies. Maxen fully understood sympathized with the plight of the blood elves and the dark path they were forced to take by the corrupted lords of Lordaeron. He served alongside them during the Orcish Wars and even fell in love with a high elven ranger. But those days were long gone. It is why Maxen held a deep, rooted resentment for the "lords" and "ladies" of the human kingdom who held themselves high even while the land they claimed festered with the plague. To be able to walk beneath the enchanted forests of Quel'Thalas peacefully would be- "MY LORD!" An armored knight stumbled into the hall, panting in heaves. The petitioners in line all gaped at him. Some grumbled about being interrupted. Maxen rose from his chair, genuine concern on his features. "What is it now?" "The elves have taken a number of our soldiers hostage, my lord!" Duke Maxen froze in place, his gaze descending to the floor before him. As the knight gained his breath, the lord's hands slowly balled into trembling fists. "Lord Tenevus asked that you join him in Northshire to discuss a way to-" Maxen slammed his fist on the table, knocking over an inkwell. The black liquid quickly spread over a number of scrolls, eventually trickling over the table's edge and dripping onto the floor. "There is no time. I will ride for Westfall at once." Exerpt: From the Eyes of the Chapter The old paladin waited in the Hall of Arms with his Seneschal, Davrin Wallcroft, the two of them sparing little to any word between each other, their eyes box fixed on various papers and tomes. "I pray that Lord Montclair can come to his senses and speak with us this evening. Though, if I know him as I think I do, even -if- he comes, I fear his zeal will force him against reason." The greyed strategist noticed his lord had spoken and gave a token of advise. "I'm more curious as to the nature of the Sin'dorei's landing here...and why such was permitted." The two went back to a silence only comparable to the other chillingly quiet rooms in the stone abbey. Yet, the still air was soon broken as a contingent of Quel'dorei entered the room, coming with rather pressing information. "Lord Stromheart, the Sin'dorei have agreed to release the prisoners in return that all military threat and action cease. All threat of Sir Regg and his anger seems to have been quelled on part of his recent outbursts and subsequent restrictions." mentioned the young Ranger Lady. Tenevus instantly turned at this news, as did Davrin, the both of them sharing a skeptical glance towards each other. The Grand Master spoke with sharp and quick reaction, a plan already formulated sprung from his lips. "Davrin, rally the Silver Hand and have them stationed in Westbrook Garrison. We will cut off the Regiment and see these peaceful terms finalized. Go now, quickly!" The war-seasoned seneschal hastily scuffled away, making for the city. "I will -suggest- you inform your elven cousins that their departure is to happen -immediately- after they have turned over their last hostage." he demanded with a bold accent to his lip before storming off in a lightning haste from the abbey's inner halls. *** Tenevus landed off his horse with a heavy portion of the Arch-chapter of Stormwind at his back, hidden behind a tall rise overlooking the now shattered Gold Coast Quarry, "Hold your ground while I survey the situation." he requested of the knights and clerics, they all then going about their business and preparations -had they been needed. "My Lord!" A guardsman by the name of 'Tiban' waved the Grand Master over while hiding in some low brush, "My lord, over here!" Tenevus made his way, dodging the possibility, several times, of being in the open, before making it to the rather malnourished and dried plant. "Ah...they're down at the cave. It seems the elves are talking amongst themselves and getting this transaction underway. This is excellent. Go and relief Davrin from his post." The guardsman took off immediately to relieve his field commander. Seconds letter, the roaring thunder of hoof sounded behind the crouched paladin. Lord Montclair charging into the scene without the fear or notion of hazzard. Tenevus swirled instantly on his heel to regard the fellow noble, a defeated demeanor across his face... "Maxen, they are releasing the prisoners and will soon be out of our hair. Please mind your pride and let this transaction and misunderstanding subside. We can figure our repercussions -afterwards-." "They came here on -good faith", jolted the infuriated Lord-Marshal, his grey 'stache twitching with rage, "Justice must be served, they have our men in there!" Tenevus tried to appeal to the man's skewed valor, his hands raised in appeasement, "Just allow me more time and not another drop of blood will be needlessly shed, my friend." Despite the attempts of parlay, the mounted noble grunted and trotted off to the shore. Things had gone from stable to questionable. Tenevus too was cast into frustration, calling for Davrin. "Mister Wallcroft, devise a counter attack plan immediately. Lord Montclair is becoming a hopeless cause." With a nod and a bow, the Seneschal began the defensive preparations, staging knights around the valley in a circular formation. Meanwhile, the amber-haired knight went searching for Lord Montclair, taking he and his horse down to the shore where he last say the noble rush off to. "Oh....no. By the Light. -no-." Marching two-by-two the might of the First Regiment, still a far less supply that resided in the cave that would strike against them, trudged through the murky sands of Westfall. Tenevus rode down to confront them, yet they passed on, fueled with hatred and rage. "You can't do this! This is not the will of the Light! This is -pride-!" Tenevus hollered while riding back up to his knights. By the time he arrived to the Silver Hand defensive, the skirmishing had begun and the knights looked on in horror as the elves -cleaved- through the wreckless King's forces. "Fighting for pride...this is not our fight." Tenevus declared, holding the Silver Hand on the ridge, "But...for the sake of the innocent that follow Lord Montclair's folly...we will make it ours. Silver Hand, to the chokepoint in the valley!" The knights rode swiftly to the beaches and assembled a fierce row. Their timing was impeccable, for another attack from the elves would have surely ended the Alliance forces. "This is not for you, Montclair...but for those that blindly serve to fuel your arrogance!" chanting valiantly, Tenevus ordered the charge, where the two points then converged and pushed the elves to the back of the cave... "This is enough, Maxen. They have no place to run. Demand peace and let it be finished!" The Silver Hand and allies held firm at the cave's entrance as the rest of the First and their allies charge without care for safety, into the crag, the walls of the old mine visibly unstable. "This is your choice to make, Maxen, but you'll make it alone. Silver Hand, fall back to the ridge and leave this fool to his pride." and with that, the knights rode back to the established infirmary on the hill overlooking the valley, just in time to evade the collapse of the cavern. After the battle had subsided and the emotions of the evening too did, the Grand Master called for the men and women to gather, not a single soul beyond repair or worse...dead. "You have all done well today to uphold peace and the sanctity of life. But, we must understand, that such a responsibility can not just be upheld by those charged with keeping it, for even our allies, at some times, give in to rage, bloodlust, and it clouds their judgement. Know this: that the Silver Hand will -always- be there for its allies, but it will -never- betray the Light. What we have done is just that. May we all travel to the city and tend holy liturgy to wash our souls of this foolishness." With that, the Silver Hand made for the city, the hope for peace riding with them. Excerpt: Maxen's Frustration Thrust. Parry. Sidestep. Fully armored and equipped, Maxen practiced his swordplay - pacing the halls of Westridge Keep as he did every night he was not on some campaign outside of his holdings. It was a means for him to dispatch foes imaginary and real. In his focus, he could put aside his thoughts and troubles and practice for battles to come. Or so he thought. The man's mind wandered even as he tried to direct it at the task at hand. The elves of the Dominion had stolen not only the king's gold and other minerals from the cave, but the promise of peace that could have followed if they had not betrayed the kingdom that invited them in with open arms. And the squabbling masses of the capital city blamed Maxen and his regiment for it to remedy their lack of gossip. Maxen gnashed his teeth and swung his blade harder than he intended. The armored man winced and let out a gasp as the momentum of his heavy blade overextended his elbow, sending a rush of pain through his arm. Damn you, Ashamal. Damn you, Setrien. Damn you, Tenevus. The men had all betrayed his trust and jeopardized what he so dearly sought. If Ashamal hadn't murdered Tendael, if Setrien hadn't turned to violence, if even Tenevus had initially supported Maxen instead of mocking and attempting to chastize him during the heat of battle, Stormwind and Silvermoon could be closer to peace. Was Maxen right to threaten to attack the elves if they didn't surrender their prisoners? Of course I was. If I hadn't, the elves would have summoned reinforcements and gotten away with both my men and more of the king's resources. He saw the bloodlust in the elf's eyes. If Maxen had fifty or five thousand more men, the elves held a bottleneck and would have had no reason to parlay or surrender their prisoners. Now the elves were in Silvermoon with the king's gold and other resources, lying about their involvement. Now Tenevus was preaching about how prideful and bloodthirsty Maxen was for not allowing the elves to further plumb the king's resources after they had lied, stolen and attacked his men. Now his king had reason to put an end to the efforts towards peace, with no evidence other than Maxen's word to give to the elves' regent lord to bring the Dominion to justice. Does Tenevus truly trust the elves' words more than my own? Is he so blinded by his self-righteous rhetoric that he feels justified in slandering his allies to bolster his own image? Maxen thrust his sword outward, the blade glowing in the light of the hall's flickering torches. He would find his evidence and bring the Dominion to justice, no matter what it took. Mairaed watched from the shadows as Maxen took out his frustrations. She was a shadow, despite being so near to giving birth, her old ranger ways and her intimate knowledge of these halls allowing her to remain silent and watch. It was painful to watch him like this and be so totally, utterly helpless to stand beside him. For years, they had fought and bled together. Most recently, tactical and political decisions were made in tandem with the other. But now, with the rapidly approaching birth of the first heir of Westridge, Mairaed was sequestered in the halls of Westridge and the streets of Stormwind while the First marched to her birthland. In the months she'd been cared for so carefully by the upper echelon of medical staff, she'd fallen out of contact with those who had their fingers on the pulse of the political shifts within the city. All that reached her now was rumor, hearsay and what was rapidly becoming scorn from those that were once called friend. All she can do is wait, and watch, and plan for the day the shadow melts away with all the other petty differences that divided previously staunch allies. Category:The First Regiment Category:Events Category:Campaigns Category:Dominion of the Sun Category:Silver Hand Chapter Category:Magus Senate of Dalaran Category:Partisans of Alterac Category:Clergy of the Holy Light Category:RP-PvP